


For the Longing to be Human

by coffeemuke



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caring, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Riding, Smut, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Sex, a little bit of Elizabeth pining for Victor, screw Victor tbh, the creature just wants human affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeemuke/pseuds/coffeemuke
Summary: When he escaped, he felt it in his bones, in his stark-beating heart that he was meant to follow this path. The sensation was familiar, like that of his creator, but it was softer, less vicious. Welcoming. Wherever he was traveling, he knew he’d be welcomed there, and that hope of humanity pressed him onward through the storm.He found a much more charming presence than expected.
Relationships: Creature/Elizabeth Lavenza
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Corsets & Lemons 2019 round - 1800 literature





	For the Longing to be Human

**Author's Note:**

> "I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”  
> \- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
> 
> Written for the the Corsets & Lemons Kinkmeme prompt: Creature/anyone - The creature gets the human recognition he craves. Yes, someone (oc, elizabeth, his protectors, whatever, anyone except victor for this particular prompt) saw his dick. https://corsetsandlemons.dreamwidth.org/2535.html?thread=8167
> 
> So I have Obey Me fics that I was working on… but I just finished reading Frankenstein for school and felt compelled to write a fic… and then found the perfect prompt lol. So here’s 3.5k words of hurt/comfort ending in glorious smut with the creature and Elizabeth, because there's not enough written about this pairing.
> 
> A note: For fic purposes, Elizabeth goes on a vacation near Victor while he’s in college at Ingolstadt, and the creature learns to speak soon after he comes alive (my explanation is that he took in all the things Victor said when he was working on him for 2 years). I also described him as slightly less hideous, because I’m incapable of writing smut about someone ugly lol, and I have a head canon that Victor was very meticulous in his work, and that the individual parts of the creature were chosen carefully, but when put together, they just look a little… off.

When the creature escaped, all he saw was darkness. He heard the outburst of his creator’s horrified scream, and then he broke free from the restraints, snapping the leather like twine, and ran. He ran for miles, first through the streets, then into the forest, naked and shivering in the harsh winter. Some sense of direction pulled him, though he could barely see, from the newness of his eyelids opening and the sleet that assailed him. He felt it in his bones, in his stark-beating heart that he was _meant_ to follow this path. The sensation was familiar, like that of his creator, but it was softer, less vicious. Welcoming. Wherever he was traveling, he knew he’d be welcomed there, and that hope of humanity pressed him onward through the storm.

Elizabeth, while dressing for bed, heard a thud downstairs. She slipped her robe on over her gown, for it was chilly even with the fire going, and lifted up the lace curtain on her window. Nothing outside was visible with the storm of ice beating against the trees, twisting them sideways. She resolved to forget the noise; it was surely a small limb from a nearby tree falling against the house. However, what if there had been someone in need of help, and she ignored them after finding it too dark to see outside? With this thought, she wrapped her robe tighter, and slipped on a pair of shoes.

Thankfully, Justine had already retired for the night. She was sure explaining that she meant to step outside in the middle of this weather would concern her sweet maid. Slowly enough to lessen the creaking of the stairs, she descended from her bedroom into the foyer. The door was locked, and she turned the deadbolt, bracing herself for the cold of the night as she stepped out.

The wind had slowed considerably since she peered out the window, and she was pleased to find that the sleet was not so bothersome anymore, because when she looked down, there was something far more startling before her.

Her mind could hardly process what her eyes saw. A figure, slumped across the front steps of her rented house, far enough to be a day’s ride away from Victor. Surely it wasn’t him? An expression of horror crossed her face at the idea as she studied the figure more carefully. No, it was far too large to be her dear cousin and adoptive brother. What, then, was it?

She squatted down, not caring that her skirt brushed the debris along the steps, and reached out to touch the face of this giant human. His face was turned toward her, one side pressed against the rough stone of the top step, and his body curled in on itself across the two lower steps. His skin was chilled, but she could feel the tremulous cheek, at least assuring her that it was alive. An inhuman grunt came from the figure beneath her feet. It began to move, joints contorting into a half-sitting position until she recognized that it was a man. Even in the dim light from the burning lamp at the door, she could see that his face was marred, as if he had the skin of an old man, and that his skin had a grayish pallor unlike that of a healthy individual. She offered a hand to the miserable creature, who accepted, his own massive fingers gripping tightly as he stood. He towered at least a head over her, even with her above-average height.

She shrugged to help him inside, due to his huge stature, but once they were in the doorway, she quickly shut the door to keep out the cold. Not confident that he could move on his own, she kept hold of his hand while he followed her up the stairs. It was useless trying to avoid the creaks of the floorboards with his large frame, and she resigned herself to the knowledge that Justine was a heavy sleeper, and moreover, did not question her mistress.

He was silent as she led him into her room, her concern for his well-being overruling any worry of having a strange man in her house. She breathed a heavy sigh at being back inside, feeling the warmth of the fireplace heating up her body. They stood close by, and she let go of his hand, assuming he could stand even in his weak state. It was then she noticed, in the dim crackling light, that he was naked.

She couldn’t help but stare, not because she wanted to, but out of intrigue. The features she had barely glimpsed outside now were illuminated, and she had never seen such a creature. His torso was that of a healthy young man, with rippling muscles, but there was something _wrong_ about him. Minute lines traversed his bare skin, as if he had been thoroughly scarred all over by some tragedy. Her eyes traveled downward, widening when she saw his manhood, uncovered between his legs. He seemed to have no sense of shame to cover himself, so she took in the other details of his body, forcing herself to keep her wandering eyes from debasing him. She assured herself that the way her eyes traversed his form was just out of curiosity. His legs, like the rest of him, looked powerful, enough that she was surprised that such a stranger would collapse at her door. Her eyes made their way back up, to his face, and she let out a quiet gasp. His eyes were warm, a beautiful hazel that she would have found charming had it not been for the rest of his face. His skin stretched grotesquely over the sharp bones of his cheek and jaw, making him look gaunter than his body would suggest. Tangled black hair flowed over his powerful shoulders. His lips were set in a straight line, darker than the rest of his pale skin, and she was shocked to see them move apart, as if to speak.

She backed away, suddenly realizing the threat this man posed, but if he was aware of this thought, he did not show it. He turned to her with an imploring gaze, and all that came from his open mouth was a rough, garbled noise. “You,” he said clearly, after the unsuccessful first attempt. “Who are you?” His speech was irregular, but it was clearly English, and he intended to communicate with her.

She answered him, in honest fear now of the man she so carelessly invited inside her home. “My name is Elizabeth. I come from the Frankenstein family, and make my permanent residence in Geneva.”

His eyes flash in recognition. “Frankenstein,” he repeats, as if mulling over the name. “I knew I would find you. The family of my creator.”

“Oh, what has Victor done?” The words slipped past her lips, despairingly, imploring that it may not be anything malevolent, but she had a sinking feeling that she already knew the answer. Creator, he had said.

“Victor. He gave me life, then abandoned me. I came all this way searching for someone, though I knew not who. You must be the one I was looking for.” With that, he almost collapses, grabbing ahold of the mantel above the fireplace to steady himself as he sinks to the floor.

She did not know how to respond, and paused for a moment before speaking. “You must be hungry, and cold. Please allow me to help.” No matter who this man may have been, or how horrible his story, she still felt the need to provide him with the things every human needed. She was not one to revel in the indignity of human sorrow, to blame the poor for their own misery.

“Stay by the fire and keep warm. I will be back shortly.” He moved to make himself comfortable, crossing his legs where he sat by the roaring flames, and closed his eyes peacefully.

She returned with a plate of salted meat, taken from their winter store, and bread she had baked that morning, to Justine’s protests that it was _her_ job to cook.

The man accepted, ravenously eating the portion on the plate. He gazed at her with those clear eyes, the one part of him she did not find fear in. Whatever sort of monster he may be, an inhuman creation, his eyes looked so full of life that she could hardly believe he was not born from humanity like herself.

She sat on her bed and let him eat. Her hands trembled as they tightened the tassel of her robe, a subconscious attempt to protect herself. However, she once again allowed herself to be vulnerable, and asked him, “Would you like to bathe?” He was covered in dirt and dampness from braving the elements, and she felt it would be impolite to turn him away without even a meal and bath.

He looked at her quizzically, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s… something we do to get clean. It will also warm your body,” she quickly explained. He seemed to be unfamiliar with most social customs, and perhaps this was a clue as to the veracity of his story.

He nodded, allowing her to busy herself with heating water on the stove downstairs and bringing it upstairs to the wood and steel tub that stood behind a folding screen, careful not to tip the pot and burn herself. He still sat by the fire, unmoving and silent, almost like a grotesque statue. She felt sorrow for the poor man, never having been taught anything, abandoned by his own creator, supposing he must feel somewhat like an orphaned child. This is why he sought her out, she remembered, because she was close to Victor. Recalling his words, she felt a pang of hurt that Victor had kept this secret from her, but vowed to do what she could to help this man.

By the time she had filled the tub halfway, the water was no longer hot enough to burn, but a comfortable temperature to soak one’s aching muscles. He stepped in, letting his body sink under the surface, bending his knees so they fit. His body was barely covered by the layer of water, and his torso rose out of it so much that his shoulders rested at the top of the basin rather than just inside the ledge, as hers did when bathing.

“It’s nice.” He spoke this time, which startled her, but she was glad to know he appreciated the bath.

“May I wash your hair?” came her gentle voice. The question was instinctive. Her motherly demeanor took over, reminding her of the days she’d do this for William and Ernest. They were certainly less calm and quiet, but it was the same. She enjoyed caring for others, even if it was a stranger now bathing in her room.

Again he nodded, and she sat by the tub, and pushed lightly on his shoulder, signaling him to lean forward. She cupped her hands, letting them fill with water before pouring it over his locks, then lathering soap between flattened palms and beginning to work it onto his scalp. It seemed as though this man had never felt a human touch, for the way he craned his neck back to meet her longingly after just this simple action was as she had never seen. The act of washing his hair came to an end far too quickly for the both of them it seemed, for as she began to lose herself in the thick, knotted strands of his hair, he let out a deep breath as in relaxation. She acquired a comb from the table nearby, and pulled it through the long tendrils, hoping to not cause him pain.

“I’ll step out and allow you to wash your body.” She set the soap on the metal edge of the tub and turned to walk away, giving him privacy on purpose, before he reached her wrist with a dripping hand.

“Please… please stay.” And if she doesn’t look at him, his voice sounded now like that of any man, not a monster. His gentle tone pleaded with her, and she sat on the tile floor beside him. The water splashed lightly as he moved, surely to lather the sinewy muscles she saw in the firelight. She kept her head facing straight ahead, but saw him in her peripheral vision on her right side, just in case he decided to threaten her. But somehow she doubted he would, because it would have been sooner, wouldn’t it? If he planned to hurt her, he would have acted upon the violent impulse when she first took him in. And from the way he spoke and the loneliness in his eyes, she knew instinctively that he was _good_ , pure-hearted, even though his appearance would suggest otherwise.

He raised himself out of the tub after several minutes of soaking, and she handed him her own towel, as there were none in the closet. His nakedness was so readily available, and she tried not to look, for the sake of her purity, and for her duty to Victor.

Yet she caught a glimpse of his body from the corner of her eye, and in the barely-there moonlight through the second-floor window, he was beautiful. With just enough light to see the curves of his body and not the small lines of the skin sewn together, she forgot at once that he was a monster and not a man. And when she turned her head fully to view him, she inhaled sharply at the stark realization that no matter how he came about, he was a man. He was erect, and she felt a throb between her legs at the sight.

She rose up hurriedly, letting him dry himself with the towel as she searched for suitable clothing, trying to put the image of his nudity out of her mind. He stepped past the screen, still nude, and she handed him a thick robe that was large on her, hoping it would suit his giant form. He, for his part, accepted what was given and quickly figured out how to put it on. It was small on him, but fit enough to tie around his waist. The fabric drew tight around his shoulders, and exposed a thin sliver of his chest, which now looked more human than before.

Despite the doubt and desire to be cautious still brewing in her subconscious, she finds that she uttered the words, “come lie down,” ushering him to the bed where she slept. He copied her position on the bed, lying on his side behind her. He took up so much room that she pressed against him unintentionally, and a jolt of shock and arousal was sent through her when she felt his hardness through the fabric of her robe, pressed against her buttocks. She turned, facing him with the intimacy of lovers sharing a bed, and his eyes searched hers for meaning.

“I have never felt the touch of another. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable.” He spoke slowly, enunciating the words carefully, and now that his voice was used to speaking, it had a silky quality to it. She felt a stirring in her heart at his honest words.

She ran a hand over the sleeve of his robe, from the powerful shoulder to the slender wrist, and he made a noise of contentment at the touch, even though she had barely touched his skin. His expression was that of one about to cry, with watery eyes and slightly opened lips. She thought now that he was not nearly so monstrous as the being she first saw. This man, who melted into her touch as she traced the lines of his body. The body that Victor made. It had the signature of someone spending meticulous hours on it, designing it to be beautiful, and she had the fleeting thought that he did well.

“More,” the creature, the man, said to her, and she obliged. The sash of his robe was loosened, and she slid the fabric away to expose more of him. The broad plane of his chest was not grotesque, but unique with its markings. Barely-visible lines where skin met skin adorned his torso, careful stitches from Victor’s handiwork. She traced them with a finger, and watched his eyes for a sign to stop, though he gave her none. His manhood twitched beneath the robe, and she could not, did not resist, instead reaching beneath it to stroke across the velvety-hot flesh. He shuddered beneath her hand.

She could not control her desire after feeling this part of him that was so certainly alive, so human, and knowing that he would not hurt her, fully opened his robe now to see the expanse of his body. A palm pressed flat on his chest made him groan, an unholy sound that told her to keep going. She trailed lower, to the toned muscles of his hips, deciding to press a kiss on the bone that jutted out.

He was silent now, so much so that she wondered if he was alright. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, toning down the fire in her eyes to let him know they needn’t do this, feeling her own uncertainty now that the initial wave of lust had subsided. Upon meeting his eyes, she saw a trail of wetness gliding down to rest of his cheekbone.

He nodded, pressing his thin lips together as if to keep from saying anything.

The deep voice starts out as no more than a whisper. “I am a monster. I expected no human to ever embrace me, but you have done so much more. You welcomed me into your home, gave me food, bathed me. And now you desire me in this way too.”

She felt emotion welling up, her throat tightening as if all the feelings in her had gotten stuck there. He just wanted to be loved. Oh, lonely, lovely creature! How could Victor have abandoned something so pure?

“Do you wish to continue?” she asked again, needing the confirmation that she wasn’t overstepping boundaries, but perhaps she already had, and they couldn’t go back now to the way things were. She couldn’t sleep next to him, feel the warmth of his body, and pretend it ignited nothing in her heart. She’d stop, certainly, if he wanted, but it was no good to pretend now that she wasn’t enamored with him.

“Yes.” He paused for a moment, still looking at her in a way that made her feel _desired_ like she had never been by Victor, the object of her affections for so many years. “I’d like to see you. All of you.”

His words heated her cheeks, but she obliged, sitting back on her heels and opening her robe. He stared openly, not bothering now to hide the greedy eyes wandering her form. She slipped off her gown, over her shoulders, and heard him inhale as he saw her breasts.

He leaned forward, barely breathing. “May I?” he reached out a trembling hand to her, and she accepted with a breathy “please.”

Creature that he was, he was more gentle than she expected. Her skin tingled at his fingertips stroking across the valley between her breasts. He seemed so much more human now, with skin less gray now that he was warm, and fingers deftly moving across her body. She saw the network of veins beneath his pale skin, and wondered how long it had taken to piece his body together, part by part. In the firelight, he looked almost like a normal man, and she could have pretended it was Victor touching her like this. But it wasn’t, and she knew he might never want her in this way. So she accepted, yielding to his creation, while also grieving over her guilt for the man who was supposed to be the one to do this.

He grabbed at her hips, pulling her onto his lap, and her heart jumped as she felt his arousal just beneath her, wanting so badly to have him inside her. She gave a tentative roll of her hips against him, and his sound of pleasure faded into her mouth as she drew their lips together. The kiss was broken quickly, as she grew more desperate. His soft eyes watched with interest as she slid back on his legs, wrapping small fingers around him that were dwarfed by the size of his cock, and stroked him. He made a strangled sound at the deed, and she felt powerful to have this massive creature at her mercy, underneath her, yearning for her. She lifted her hips and held him steady with one hand as she began to sink down on him, burying him inside her wet heat. There was no pain, as she had expected, only the feeling of him stretching her and a fullness that made her pant with need. He groaned, a match to her breathy noises of satisfaction. She pressed her hands against the wall for support, lifting herself up and down. The motion was slow, unpracticed by both, but not clumsy like the fumbling of teenagers. It was sensual, deep, every movement filled with the longing they both had for human contact. She kissed him, and those thin, bleak lips moved against her with such life that she was convinced this is no monster, for a monster could not kiss so gently, nor fuck so patiently. His hips rose up to meet hers as she chased the feeling of completion; she felt him pressing so deep, against her cervix, and he prodded at a spot that made her cry out.

He grasped her face with a large, calloused hand, looking into her eyes for reassurance, and found it restored tenfold with her expression. “It’s good. So good…” she told him breathlessly, as he moved against her. Shortly, the muscles of his stomach tensed and he pumped again into her once, twice, before coming with a groan and spilling his seed inside her.

She gasped, realizing that he had finished inside her, and it pushed her over the edge as she rode his still-hard cock, grinding her clit on his pelvis as she enveloped all of him. With a crescendo of moans, she came, and fell forward against his shoulder in blissful relief. His arms wrapped around her in an embrace that she never wanted to end.


End file.
